COMPILED FROM FILES OF THE NATIONAL INTELLIGINCER,
PRINTED AT WASHINGTON, D.C.

WASHINGTON, D.C.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM H. MOORE.
1859.

INTRODUCTION.

The late G. W. Parke Custis, the author of the “RECOLLECTIONS AND PRIVATE EMOIRS OF GENERAL WASHINGTON,” whose death occurred on the 10th October, 1857, was thus spoken of by the Editors of the National Intelligencer:

DEATH OF MR. CUSTIS.

It becomes our painful duty to announce the decease of the venerable George Washington Parke Custis, the last of the members of the family of Washington.

Mr. Custis died at Arlington, near this city, after a brief illness, on the morning of the 10th instant, in the 77th year of his age. For several years he had stood alone in his relations to the Father of his Country, ever anxious, with filial reverence and affection, to illustrate his character, and from the rich stores of his never-failing memory to bring forward an annual tribute to his immortal worth. Known and honored by his fellow countrymen, his departure will awaken universally a profound regret.

Born amid the great events of the Revolution, by the death of his father, (Col. Custis, of the army, and a son of Mrs. Washington by a former marriage,) which occurred near the close of the war, he found his home during childhood and youth at Mount Vernon, where his manners were formed after the noblest models; and from the great worthies of that period, frequent guests there, he received impressions of wisdom and patriotism that were never effaced. Under the counsels of Washington he pursued his classical studies at Princeton, and when deprived by death of his great guide and father, (and soon after of his revered grandmother,) he devoted himself to literary and agricultural pursuits on his ample estate of Arlington, the gift, by will, of that illustrious man. He was early united in marriage to Miss Mary Lee Fitzhugh, of Virginia, a lady of unsurpassed excellences in all the relations of life, and whose irreparable loss, three years ago, he continued with sorrow and affectionate admiration, to his final day, profoundly to deplore. One daughter, (Mrs. Lee, wife of Col. Robert Lee, of the army) and several grandchildren survive him.

Mr. Custis was distinguished by an original genius for eloquence, poetry, and the fine arts; by a knowledge of history, particularly the history of this country; for great powers of conversation, for an ever-ready and generous hospitality, for kindness to the poor, for patriotism, for constancy of friendship, and for a more than filial devotion to the memory and character of Washington. His early speeches on the death of Gen. Lingan and the overthrow of Napoleon were everywhere read and admired, even by those who dissented from the sentiments, for the beauty of their conception and their impassioned eloquence. Those familiar with the columns of this journal will not forget how largely we and the country are indebted to the warm and ever cheerful spirit of the deceased for many invaluable reminiscences of revolutionary history, of the distinguished men of those times, and especially of the private life of their glorious chief in the retirement of the shades of his home at Mount Vernon.

Thousands from this country and from foreign lands who have visited Arlington to commune with our departed friend, and look upon the touching memorials there treasured up with care of him who was first in the hearts of his countrymen, will not forget the charm thrown over all by the ease, grace, interest, and vivacity of the manners and conversation of him whose voice, alas! is silent now. The multitudes of our fellow-citizens accustomed, in the heat of summer, to resort to the shades of Arlington will hereafter miss that old man eloquent, who ever extended to them a warm-hearted welcome and became partaker of their joy.

Long a believer in the great truths of Divine Revelation, Mr. Custis turned to these for consolation in his last days, and died in communion with the Protestant Episcopal Church.

GEN. WASHINGTON,
HIS LIFE, HABITS AND MANNERS.

General WASHINGTON, during the whole of both his public and private life, was a very early riser; indeed, the Maternal Mansion, at which his first habits were formed, abhorred the character of a sluggard, as much as nature does a vacuum. Whether as Chief Magistrate or the retired Citizen, we find this man of method and labor seated in his library from one to two hours before day, in winter, and at day-break in summer. We wonder at the amazing deal of work which he performed. Nothing but a method the most remarkable and exemplary could have enabled him to accomplish an amount of labor, which might have given pretty full employment to the lives of half a dozen ordinary, and not idle men. When we consider the volume of his official papers—his vast foreign, public, and private correspondence—we are scarcely able to believe that the space of one man’s life should have comprehended the doing so many things, and doing them so well. His toilette was soon made. A single servant prepared his clothes, and laid them in readiness, also combed and tied his hair; he shaved and dressed himself, giving but very little of his precious time to matters of that sort, though remarkable for the neatness and propriety of his apparel. His clothes were made after the old-fashioned cut, of the best, though plainest materials. When President of the United States, the style of his household and equipage corresponded with the dignity of his exalted station, though avoiding as much as was possible every thing like show or parade. The expenses of his presidency, over and above the salary of government, absorbed the proceeds of the sale of a very considerable estate.

The President never appeared in military costume, unless to receive his brethren of the Cincinnati, or at reviews. He then wore the old opposition colors of England, and the regimental dress of the Volunteer corps which he commanded prior to the Revolution. With the exception of the brilliant epaulettes, we believe a present from General Lafayette, and the diamond order of the Cincinnati, presented by the seamen of the French fleet, our allies in the war of liberty, the uniform of the Commander-in-Chief of the army and navy, under the Constitution, was as plain as blue and buff could make it. The cocked hat, with the black ribbon cockade, was the only type of the heroic time which appended to the Chief; during his civil magistracy; in all other respects, he seemed studiously to merge the military into the civil characteristics of his public life.

About sunrise, General Washington invariably visited and inspected his stables. He was very fond of horses, and his equipages were always of a superior order. The horses which he rode, in the war of Independence, were said to be superb. We have a perfect remembrance of the charger which bore him in the greatest of his triumphs, when he received the sword of the vanquished, on the ever memorable 19th October, 1781. It was a chesnut, with white face and legs, and was called Nelson, after the patriotic Governor of Virginia. Far different was the fate of this favorite horse of Washington, from that of “the high mettled racer.” When the Chief had relinquished its back, it was never mounted more, but cropped the herbage in summer, was housed and well cared for in winter, often caressed by the master’s hand, and died of old age at Mount Vernon, many years after the Revolution. The library, and a visit to the stables, occupied the morning till the hour of breakfast: this meal was without change to him, whose habits were regular, even to matters which others are so apt to indulge themselves in, to endless variety. Indian cakes, honey and tea, formed this temperate repast. On rising from table, if there were guests, and it was seldom otherwise, books and papers were offered for their amusement; they were requested to take good care of themselves, and the illustrious farmer proceeded to the daily tour of his agricultural concerns. He rode upon his farms entirely unattended, opening his gates, pulling I down and putting up his fences, as he passed, visiting his laborers at their work, inspecting all the operations of his extensive agricultural establishments with a careful eye, directing useful improvements, and superintending them in their progress. He introduced many and valuable foreign, as well as domestic modes of improved husbandry, showing, by experiment, their practical utility, and peculiar adaptation to our system of rural affairs; and, by his zeal and ability, “gave a speed to the plough,” and a generous impulse to the cause of agriculture and domestic economy—those important sources of national wealth, industry, and independence.

The tour of the farms might average from ten to fifteen miles per day. An anecdote occurs to us at this moment, which, as it embraces a Revolutionary worthy, a long tried and valued friend of the Chief, and is graphic of Washington on his farm, we shall, without apology, present to our readers. We were accosted, while hunting, by an elderly stranger, who inquired whether the General was to be found at the Mansion house, or whether he had gone to visit his estate. We replied, that he was abroad, and gave directions as to the route the stranger was to pursue, observing, at the same time, you will meet, sir, with an old gentleman riding alone, in plain drab clothes, a broad brimmed white hat, a hickory switch in his hand, and carrying an umbrella with a long staff, which is attached to his saddie-bow—that personage, sir, is General Washington! The stranger, much amused at our description, observed, with a good humored smile, Thank ye, thank ye, young gentleman; I think, if I fall in with the General, I shall be rather apt to know him. At dinner, we had the pleasure of being introduced to Colonel Meade, who had been aid-de-camp to the Commander-in-Chief, in the war of the Revolution. The umbrella was not used as an article of luxury, for luxuries were to him known only by name. Being naturally of a very fair complexion, his skin was liable to be affected by the influence of the sun.

This umbrella, just as it was when last he had it down, never again to require its friendly shade, we have had the good fortune to preserve for a quarter of a century, and the happiness to present it to the Patriarch of La Grange, in whose possession it will long be treasured, as the relic of his Paternal Chief, and as an appropriate memorial of the modern Cincinnatus. Precisely at a quarter before three, the industrious farmer returned, dressed, and dined at three o’clock. At this meal he ate heartily, but was not particular in his diet, with the exception of fish, of which he was excessively fond, partook sparingly of dessert, drank a homemade beverage, and from four to five glasses of Madeira wine. When the cloth was removed, with old-fashioned courtesy he drank to the health of every person present, and then gave his toast#8212;his only toast—all our friends:—than which a nobler or a kindlier sentiment never was pledged at the board of social friendship, or “brayed out with the trumpet’s triumphs” at the “carousals” of a King.

While on the subject of toasts, we would ask permission to give one more. The late Colonel Cropper, of Accomac, was a Captain in the ninth Virginia Regiment of the line, which formed part of the Southern Division under Greene, and covered the retreat of our discomfited army at the battle of Brandywine. On the evening of that hard-fought day, Cropper marched the remains of his company into Chester, having his handkerchief fastened to a ramrod, in place of a flag. After serving his country with fidelity and distinction, Colonel Cropper retired to his estate on the Eastern Shore, where he lived to an advanced age. This worthy veteran, like his General, had but one toast, which he gave every day, and to all companies it was, “God bless General Washington.” Toasts are supposed to convey the feelings and wishes of our hearts; and if ever an aspiration, warm and direct from the heart, deserved to find favor with “Heaven’s Chancery” on high, it was when, with pious fervor, this old soldier’s prayer implored a blessing upon his revered commander.

The afternoon was usually devoted to the library. At night, his labors o’er, the venerable citizen would join his family and friends at the tea-table, arid enjoy their society for several hours—took no supper, and about nine o’clock retired to bed. When without company, he frequently read to his family extracts from the new publications of the day, and, on Sunday, sermons and other sacred writings. He read with distinctness and precision, though with a voice, the tones of which had been considerably broken by a pulmonary affection in early life, and which, when greatly excited, produced a laboring of the cheat. He would frequently, when sitting with his family, appear absent; his lips would move, his hand be raised, and he would evidently seem under the influence of thoughts, which had nothing to do with the quiescent scene around him. This peculiarity is readily accounted for, since it must be no very easy matter for one who so long had borne the cares of public life, at once to lay aside all thought for others, and become content with individual concerns.

In winter, when stress of weather prevented his taking his usual exercise, he was in the habit of walking for an hour in the portico, before retiring to rest. As the eastern portico of the Mansion House is more than ninety feet in length, this walk would comprise several miles.

Thus, in the seldom varied routine of useful industry, temperate enjoyment, and the heartfelt gratifications of domestic felicity, sped the latter days of the Father of his Country; and oh! it was luxurious to behold this “time honored man,” the race of whose glory was run, who had seized the goal of all his wishes, obtained the reward of all his toils, in the freedom and happiness of a rising Empire, resting from his mighty labors, amid the tranquil retirement of Mount Vernon.

The sedentary occupations of a President of the United States necessarily limited the opportunities for active exercise. These were principally enjoyed in occasional rides to the country, and in frequent walks to his watch-maker’s, in Second street, for the purpose of regulating his watch by the time-keeper. As he passed along, often would mothers bring their children to look on the Paternal Chief, yet not a word was heard of President of the United States; the little innocents alone were “taught to lisp the name of Washington.”

He was rather partial to children; their infantine playfulness appeared to please him, and many are the parents who at this day rejoice that his patriarchal hands have touched their offspring.

General Washington was always a strict and decorous observer of the Sabbath. He invariably attended divine service once a day, when within reach of a place of worship. His respect to the clergy, as a body, was shown by public entertainments to them, the same as to the Corps Legislative and Diplomatic, and among his bosom friends were the venerable Bishop of Pennsylvania, and the late excellent prelate and ardent friend of American liberty, Dr. Carroll, Archbishop of Baltimore.

On Sunday, no visitors were admitted to the President’s House, save the immediate relatives of the family, with only one exception: Mr. Speaker Trumbull, since Governor of Connecticut, and who had been confidential secretary to the Chief in the war of the Revolution, was in the habit of pending an hour with the President, on Sunday evenings. Trumbull practised the lesson of punctuality which he learned in the service of the olden time, with such accuracy that the porter, by consulting his clock, could tell when to stand ready to open to the Speaker’s Bell, as it was called in the family, from the circumstance of no hand, other than the Speaker’s, touching the bell on the evenings of the Sabbath.

Forty years an husband, General Washington retained an old-fashioned habit of husbands, as he always did the ease and elegance of old-fashioned manners. He wore suspended from his neck by a gold chain, and resting on his bosom, the minature portrait of his wife, from the time of his marriage until he ceased to live in nature. The letter which he wrote to her, upon his acceptance of the command of the armies of Liberty, (which letter, dated June 18, 1775, is published in this work, from the autograph,) is a proof both of his conjugal tenderness, and diffidence in receiving so important a commission; also of the purity of his heart, and of the generous and nobly disinterested motives which governed his life and actions.

The circumstances attending his first interview with his lady, we shall give from the relation of an aged gentleman, now no more. The Provincial Colonel was proceeding to Williamsburg, when he fell in with P. Chamberlayne, Esq., one of the ancient aristocracy of Virginia, who lived in a style of great hospitality at his seat, in the county of New Kent. Chamberlayne pressed the Colonel to dine with him, and stay all night, (as Virginians of those days were not in the habit of making short or ceremonious visits,) but was answered, that important business at the seat of government made a compliance, however agreeable, quite out of the question. Chamberlayne now returned to the charge, by informing his friend, that it was in his power to introduce him to a fine, young, and handsome widow, who was spending some days at his house. The gallant soldier consented to stop, but it was to dine—only to dine—while his unsaddled horses ate a mouthful, and then to be off so as to accomplish ten or fifteen miles of his journey by nightfall. Fate destined this interview to produce the long and happy union which soon followed the first meeting and mutual attachment of the parties: for the enamoured Colonel, making duty, for this time only, to yield to love, permitted the sun to set and rise again upon him, the guest of Chamberlayne, while Bishop, his old soldier and body servant, tall as his chief, and in this one instance more punctilious, had, in obeying his orders of haste, long stood at his master’s stirrup, “ready, aye, ready for the field.” The ensuing evening the Colonel departed, “nothing loth” to accept the kind bidding of his hospitable host to call again. The marriage took place about 1760, at the White House in the county of New Kent. The ceremony was performed by the Rev. Mr. Mossom, a clergyman sent out by the Bishop of London, in whose diocess the Colony of Virginia then was, to the Rectory of St. Peter’s Parish, New Kent.

Soon after his marriage, Colonel Washington became settled at Mount Vernon, and was elected frequently from the county of Fairfax to the House of Burgesses. During the reigns of the Provincial Governors, Botetourt and Eden, the Courts of Williamsburg and Annapolis displayed as much of the polish of high life as was to be found in the larger cities of Europe, with far less of their corruptions and debaucheries. It was the custom for gentlemen of fortune to have their town-houses during the sessions of the Legislature, where they lived in great splendor and hospitality. Colonel Washington was of this number: his personal attractions, not less than his early renown in arms, made him a subject of much interest to the Europeans, who were frequent visitors to the Capitals of Virginia and Maryland. Straight as an Indian arrow, he was easily distinguished in the gay crowds which appeared at the palaces of the vice-kings, by a something in his air and manner which bespoke no ordinary man. His lower limbs, being formed mathematically straight, he walked, as it were, on parallel lines, while his mode of placing and taking up his feet, resembled the step of precision and care, so remarkable in the aboriginal children of the forest. He might be termed rather a silent than a speaking member of the House of Burgesses, although he sometimes addressed the Chair, and was listened to with attention and respect, while the excellence of his judgment was put in requisition on all committees, either of important, general, or local policy.

When Colonel Washington first resided at Mount Vernon, both the Mansion-house and estate were inconsiderable. All the embellishments of the house and grounds are owing to his creative hand. Prior to the war of Independence, he was much attached to the pleasures of the chase, and is described as a bold and fearless rider. He kept hounds for a short time after the Revolution, but declined hunting altogether about 1787 or ’88.

He was never disposed to conviviality, but liked the cheerful converse of the social board; indulged in no games of chance, except in the olden times when required to make up a party at whist, in playing for a trifle; although, for many years, play of all kinds was unknown in his household. After his retirement from public life, all the time which he could spare from his library, was devoted to the improvement of his estates, and the elegant and tasteful arrangement of his house and grounds. He was his own surveyor; and the disposition and appearance of his farms, gave evident proofs that the genius of useful improvement had directed its energies with beneficial as well as ornamental effects.

As a master of slaves, General Washington was consistent, as in every other relation of his meritorious life. They were comfortably lodged, fed, and clothed; required to do a full and fair share of duty; well cared for in sickness and old age, and kept in strict and proper discipline. These, we humbly conceive, comprise all the charities of slavery. To his old servants, where long and faithful services rendered them worthy of attachment and esteem, he was most kind. His huntsman and Revolutionary attendant, Will Lee, commonly called BILLY, was specially provided for, and survived his master a good many years. Will had been a stout, active man, and a famous horseman, but, from accident, was a cripple for many years before his death, which occurred at a very advanced age. This ancient follower, both in the chase and war, formed a most interesting relic of the Chief, and received considerable largesse from the numerous visitors to Mount Vernon. The slaves were left, to be emancipated at the death of Mrs. Washington; but it was found necessary (for prudential reasons) to give them their freedom in one year after the General’s decease. Although many of them, with a view to their liberation, had been instructed in mechanic trades, yet they succeeded very badly as freemen: so true is the axiom, “that the hour which makes man a slave, takes half his worth away.”

Bishop, an English soldier, formed an interesting reminiscence of the war of ’56. He belonged to Braddock’s own regiment; and, on account of possessing superior intelligence, was detailed as a body servant to accompany that ill-fated commander on the expedition to Fort du Quesne. Bishop firmly believed in the Providence which shielded the Provincial Major, in the memorable battle of Monongahela, and observed, he was the only mounted officer left. The enemy knew him well, from their having felt him severely, the year before, at the affair of the Meadows; and the provincial military being far more obnoxious to the French and Indians than the European troops, from the marksmanship of the rangers, and their intimate knowledge of the modes of forest warfare, the fire of the enemy became singularly directed against the devoted young warrior, whom they afterwards termed “the spirit-protected man,” destined to Übecome the Chief of Nations,” and who “could not die in battle.” The hat worn on that eventful day, and which was pierced by two balls, was at Mount Vernon, and both seen and handled by several persons. long within our remembrance; yet, strange to say, it was no where to be found on the demise of the Chief. Another and invaluable relic was also missing; we mean the sword of service which was worn in action in the war of Independence. It was described to us, by one who oft had buckled it to the hero’s side, as being a kind of hauger; and we have an indistinct recollection of having been told in the family, that it was given to Greene at the close of the war. If so, it surely could not have been more worthily bestowed. Upon mentioning these circumstances to General Andrew Jackson, he was pleased to say that he would make inquiry among the descendants of Greene, who, if they possess, will, no doubt, most dearly prize so valued a gift as the Sword of the Revolution.

At the commencement of hostilities, in 1775, Bishop being too old for active service, was left at home in charge of the manufacturing establishments of the household, where the veteran would flourish his cause, exacting as perfect obedience as though he had been on parade. A comfortable house bad been built for him; he had married; and, looking no more toward his native land, he was contented to pass the remainder of his days on the domain of his patron, where he rested from labor, in the enjoyment of every possible ease and indulgence—the reward of his long and faithful services. In his comfortable homestead, and hoary with age, he would delight the young with tales of fearful interest of the Indian wars—while, his own wars ended, and at peace with the world, he feebly trimmed the lamp of life, which, having burned for more than eighty years, could but for a little while longer be kept from sinking in its socket.

Notwithstanding his perfect reverence for his patron, this old soldier would sometimes, presuming on the privilege of age and long services, chafe his protector on points of expediency, though never on those of obedience. The General would assume a lofty tone, saying, It is very well, sir; if you are at length tired of my services, you are at perfect liberty to depart. The ancient follower of Braddock, however, knew his man, and knew exactly what best to do; he wisely became silent, and the storm which appeared to be brooding quickly passed away, when a returning sunshine cheered with the warmth of its kindness the veteran of ’56.

The Washington family were subject to hereditary gout—the Chief never experienced a pang. His temperance, and the energetic employment of both his body and mind, seemed to forbid the approach of a disease, which severely afflicted several of his nearest kindred. His illnesses were of rare occurrence, but were particularly severe; his aversion to the uses of medicine was extreme: for, even when in great suffering, it was only by the entreaties of his lady, and the respectful, yet beseeching look, of his oldest friend and companion in arms, (Dr. JAMES CRAIK,) that he could be prevailed upon to take the slightest preparation of medicine. He certainly never had children. We recollect a lady who called herself his daughter. She was a fine looking woman, but without any particular likeness to the Chief; nor can we consider that as a pardonable vanity in a child, which implicates the honor of a parent.

The remarkable degree of admiration and awe that was felt by every one, upon the first approach to Washington, evidences the imposing power and sublimity which belongs to real greatness. Even the frequenters of the Courts of Princes were sensible of this exalted feeling, when in presence of the hero, who, formed for the highest destinies, bore an impress from nature, which declared him to be one among the noblest of her works.

Those who have only seen the Leader of Armies and the Chief Magistrate of the Republic, can have but an imperfect idea of the same being, when merged into the retired citizen, embosomed amid his family and friends, cultivating the social and domestic virtues, and diffusing pleasure and happiness to all around him.

Persons in general have been in error in supposing that there belonged to this awful man nothing of the gentler sort—“no tear for pity.” The Master Spirit in the direction of those vast events which gave a new empire to the world, the austerity of command could never destroy those kindlier feelings in which he delighted himself to indulge, and to dispense them to others. Stern he was to all whom he deemed wanting in those high moral requisites which dignify and adorn our natures—stern he was to the disturbers of the repose of society, the violators of those institutes which promote peace and good will among men; but he was forbearing to the imperfections of human kind, where they arose from the passions only, and not the depravities of the heart.

He was reserved to the many, but there were a chosen few, who, having passed that barrier, were wooed by his friendship to push their fortunes, till they finally gained footing in the citadel of his esteem.

He had a tear; for we have seen it shed with parental solicitude over the manifold errors and follies of our unworthy youth. He shed a tear of sorrow for his suffering country in the dark hour of her destiny, and a tear of joy and gratitude to Heaven for her deliverance—when, in 1789, he crossed the Bridge of Trenton; on which classic spot the hands of freemen “reared for him triumphal bowers,” while a choir of innocents, with seraph chaupt, “welcomed the mighty Chief once more,” and “virgins fair, and matrons grave, strewed the hero’s way with flowers.”

The journey of the first President to the seat of Government was one continued triumph; but no where was it of so feeling a character as at the bridge of Trenton. That was indeed a classic ground. It was there, on a frozen surface, that in 1776 was achieved the glorious event which restored the fast-failing fortunes of Liberty, and gave to her drooping eagles a renewed and bolder flight. What a contrast to the Chief must have been this spot in 1789, when no longer “a mercenary foe aimed ’gainst him the fatal blow;” when no more was heard the roar of combat, the shouts of the victors, the groans of the dying—but the welcome of thousands to Liberty’s great Defender, the heartfelt homage of freemen to the Deliverer of his Country. The President alighted from his carriage, and approached the bridge uncovered. As he passed under the triumphal arch, a cherub, perched amid its foliage, crowned him with laurel which will never fade, while seraph strains from angel minstrelsy sweetly filled the air, as the Hero trod on his way of flowers. Washington shed tears!

The merit of these appropriate and classical decorations were due to the late Mrs. Stockton, of Princeton, a lady of superior literary acquirements and refined taste. She was familiarly called the Duchess, from her elegance and dignity of manners; was a most ardent patriot during the war of the Revolution, and, with the Stockton family, was marked for persecution on the ruthless invasion of the Jerseys. This distinguished lady was the grandmother of Mr. Secretary Rush, who is “doubly blessed” in his Revolutionary ancestry; both his father and grand-father having signed the Declaration of Independence—a most honored distinction, and, we believe, enjoyed by no other citizen of our extensive American Empire.

THE LAST HOURS OF WASHINGTON.—1828.

Twenty-eight years have passed away since an interesting group were assembled in the death-room, and witnessed the last hours of Washington. So keen and unsparing hath been the scythe of Time, that, of all those who watched over the Patriarch’s couch, on the 13th and 14th of December, 1799, but a single personage survives.

On the morning of the 18th, the General was engaged in making some improvements in front of Mount Vernon. As was usual with him, he carried his own compass, noted his observations, and marked out the ground. The day became rainy, with sleet, and the improver remained so long exposed to the inclemency of the weather, as to be considerably wetted before his return to the house. About one o’clock, he was seized with chillness and nausea, but having changed his clothes, he sat down to his in-door work—there being no moment of his time for which he had not provided an appropriate employment.

At night, on joining his family circle, the General complained of slight indisposition, and, after a single cup of tea, repaired to his library, where he remained writing until between eleven and twelve o’clock. Mrs. Washington retired about the usual family hour, but becoming alarmed at not hearing the accustomed sound of the library door, as it closed for the night, and gave signal for rest in the well regulated mansion, she arose again, and continued sitting up, in much anxiety and suspense. At length the well known step was heard on the stair, and upon the General’s entering his chamber, the lady kindly chided him for remaining up so late, knowing himself to be unwell; to which Washington made this memorable reply: “I came so soon as my business was accomplished. You well know, that, through a long life, it has been my unvaried rule, newer to put off till the morrow the duties which should be performed to-day.”

Having first covered up the fire with care, the man of mighty labors at last sought repose; but it came not as it had long been wont to do, to comfort and restore, after the many and earnest occupations of the well-spent day. The night was passed in feverish restlessness and pain. “Tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,” was destined no more to visit his couch; yet the manly sufferer uttered no complaint, would permit no one to be disturbed in their rest on his account, and it was only at daybreak he would consent that the overseer might be called in, and bleeding resorted to. A vein was opened, but without affording relief. Couriers were despatched to summon Dr. Craik, the family, and Drs. Dick and Brown, as consulting physicians, all of whom came with speed. The proper remedies were administered, but without producing their healing effects, while the patient, yielding to the anxious looks of all around him, waived his usual objection to medicines, and took those which were prescribed, without hesitation or remark. The medical gentlemen spared not their skill, and all the resources of their art were exhausted in unwearied endeavors to preserve this noblest work of nature.

Night approached—the last night of Washington; the weather became severely cold, while the group gathered nearer to the couch of the sufferer, hatching, with intense anxiety, for the slightest dawning of hope. He spoke but little. To the respectful and affectionate inquiries of an old family servant, as she smoothed down his pillow, how he felt himself, he answered, “I am very ill.” To Dr. Craik, his earliest companion in arms, longest tried, and bosom friend, he observed: “I am dying, sir—but am not afraid to die.” To Mrs. Washington, he said: “Go to my escritoir, and in the private drawer you will find two papers—bring them to me.” They were brought. He continued: “These are my wills—preserve this one, and burn the other:” which was immediately done. Calling to Colonel Lear, he directed: “Let my corpse be kept for the usual period of three days.”

Here we would beg leave to remind our readers, that, in a former part of this work, we have said that Washington was old-fashioned in much of his habits and manners, and in some of his opinions; nor was he the less to be admired on those accounts. The custom of keeping the dead for the scriptural period of three days, is derived from remote antiquity, and arose, not from fear of premature interment, as in more modern times, but from motives of veneration toward the deceased; for the better enabling the relatives and friends to assemble from a distance, to perform the funeral rites; for the pious watching of the corpse; and for the many sad, yet endearing ceremonials with which we delight to pay our last duties to the remains of those we have loved.

The patient bore his acute sufferings with manly fortitude, and perfect resignation to the Divine will; while, as the night advanced, it became evident that he was sinking, and he seemed fully aware that his “hour was nigh.” He inquired the time, and it was answered, a few moments twelve. He spake no more—the hand of death was upon him, and he was conscious that his “hour was come.” With surprising self-possession, he prepared to die. Composing his form at length, and folding his hands upon his bosom—without a sigh—without a groan—the Father of his Country expired, gently as though an infant died. Nor pang or struggle told when the noble spirit took its noiseless flight; while so tranquil appeared the manly features in the repose of death, that some moments had passed ere those around could believe that the Patriarch was no more.

It may be asked, and why was the ministry of religion wanting to shed its peaceful and benign lustre upon the last hours of Washington? Why was he, to whom the observances of sacred things were ever primary duties through life, without their consolations in his last moments? We answer, circumstances did not permit. It was but for a little while that the disease assumed so threatening a character as to forbid the encouragement of hopes; yet, to stay that summons which none may refuse, to give still farther length of days to him whose “time-honored life” was so dear to mankind, prayer was not wanting to the Throne of Grace. Close to the couch of the sufferer, resting her head upon-that ancient book, with which she had been wont to hold pious communion, a portion of every day, for more than half a century, was the venerable consort, absorbed in silent prayer, and from which she only arose when the mourning group prepared to bear her from the chamber of the dead. Such were the last hours of Washington.

THE BIRTH NIGHT.

The Birth Night ball was instituted at the close of the Revolutionary War, and its first celebration, we believe, was held in Alexandria. Celebrations of the birth night soon became general in all the towns and cities, the 22d of February, like the 4th of July, being considered a National Festival, while the peculiarity attending the former was, that its parade and ceremonies always closed with the birth night ball. In the larger cities, where public balls were customary, the birth night, in the olden time, as now, was the Gala Assembly of the season, attended by all the beauty and fashion, by the foreign ambassadors, and strangers of distinction at the seat of Government. The first President always attended on the birth night. The etiquette was, not to open the ball until the arrival of him in whose honor it was given; but, so remarkable was the punctuality of Washington in all his engagements, whether for business or pleasure, that he was never waited for a moment in appointments for either. Among the brilliant illustrations of a birth night of five and thirty years ago, the most unique and imposing was the groups of young and beautiful ladies, wearing in their hair bandeaus or scrolls, having embroidered thereon, in language both ancient and modern, the motto of “Live the President.”

The Minuet, (now obsolete,) for the graceful and elegant dancing of which Washington was conspicuous, in the vice-regal days of Lord Botetourt in Virginia, declined down after the Revolution. The Commander-in-Chief danced, for his last time, a minuet, in 1781, at the ball given in Fredericksburg, in honor of the French and American officers on their return from the triumphs of York-Town. The last birth night attended by the venerable Chief was in Alexandria, 22d February, 1798. Indeed he always appeared greatly to enjoy the gay and festive scence exhibited at the birth night balls, and usually to remain to a late hour; for, remarkable as he was for reserve, and the dignified gravity inseparable from his nature, Washington ever looked with most kind and favoring eye upon the rational and elegant pleasures of life.

The first President was partial to the amusements of the Theatre, and attended some five or six times in a season, more especially where some public charity was to be benefited by the performance. The habit was, for the manager to wait on the President, requesting him to command a play; the pieces so commanded partook of but little variety, but must be admitted to have been in excellent taste, the “School for Scandal,” and “Every one has his Fault,” for the plays; and of the afterpieces, there was almost a standing order for the “Poor Soldier,” and “Wignel’s Darby.” The Old American Company, comprising Hallam and Henry, Harper, Wignel, and Old Morris, first played in 1789, in the Theatre, John street, and nothing more truly shows our transcendant march to empire, than the contrast between the humble, nay, barn-like Theatre which the first President attended forty years ago, and the now various and magnificent temples of Thespis, which adorn the now great and splendid city of New York.

The company moved with the Government to Philadelphia, and performed in the old Theatre, Southwark, (in which was some scenery, said to have been painted by the interesting and unfortunate Major Andre,) until the erection of the house in Chesnut street, where we believe the curtain fell upon the exits of the last remnants of the Old American Company.

(By “particular desire,”) at the head of the play bill, always announced that the President would attend, and on those nights the house would be crowded from top to bottom, as many to see the Hero as the play. Upon the President’s entering the stage box with his family, the Orchestra struck up the President’s March, (now Hail Columbia,) composed by a German named Files, in ’89, and called the President’s March, in contradistinction to the March of the Revolution, called Washington’s March. The audience applauded on the entrance of the President, but the pit and gallery were so truly despotic in the early days of the Republic, that so soon as Hail Columbia had ceased, Washington’s March was called for by the deafening din of an hundred voices at once, and upon its being played, three hearty cheers would rock the building to its base. Indeed, five and thirty years ago there could not be gotten together any large public assembly without a considerable spice of the Revolution being among it. The soldiers and sailors of the War of Liberty abounded in all public places, and no sooner would their old Chief appear, than off came each hat, and the shout of welcome resounded, pure, spontaneous, direct from the heart.

APPLICANTS FOR OFFICE.

When Washington was appointed to his last command in the armies of his country, his acceptance was accompanied by an intimation that he should remain in his beloved retirement at Mount Vernon, till imperious circumstances should call him to the field. The Commander-in-Chief gave the necessary attention to military duties through his private secretary, while himself continued the occupation of rural affairs.

A number of the principal characters in the United States were desirous that their sons should make a first essay in arms under the Immediate auspices of the venerable Chief; among these was the Hon. Charles Carroll, of Carrollton, for whom Washington ever entertained the very warmest political as well as personal attachment and esteem. To Mr. Carroll’s application the General replied, that as it was his firm resolve, in case the enemy effected a landing, to meet them on the very threshold of the empire, he should in such an event require about his person officers of tried knowledge and experience in war; but, with a view to gratify Mr. C., that his son should be received as an extra aid-de-camp.

Among the applicants of a more veteran stamp, was Col. H, of Richmond, one of that band of ardent and youthful chivalry, which Virginia sent to the War of Independence in the very dawn of the Revolution. H. was lieutenant of Morgan’s famed corps of riflemen, which performed the memorable march across the wintry wilderness of the Kennebec in 1775, during which event of almost superhuman privation and toil, and in the subsequent assault of Quebec, H. displayed a hardihood of character, and heroism of heart, that won for him the admiration of his comrades and esteem of their intrepid commander, and elicited a cognomen that a Ney might be proud to deserve, “The most daring of all who dare.” Morgan, himself bred in the hardy school of the frontier and Indian warfare, declared of H., “He exceeds all men. During the greatest horrors of our march, when the bravest fainted and fell from exhaustion and despondency, it was H. who cheered us on, for oft have I seen him dance upon the snow, while he gnawed his moccasins for subsistence.

Yet even to the application of such a soldier, did the ever cautious mind of Washington pause, while he weighed in the balance not the past, but the present merits of the man. The General wrote to his nephew then in Richmond to this effect: “H. has applied to become a member of my military family. In the war of the Revolution I knew him well; and of a truth he was then all that could be desired in a good and gallant officer, and estimable man; but time, my dear Bushrod, often changes men as well as things. Now, the object of this letter is to inquire whether the habits of H. are unaltered, and whether I shall find him now what I knew him to be in other days.” The answer to this letter was moat satisfactory. H. was the same—good, gallant, and estimable. The Chief was content, and quickly “marked him for promotion.”

What a moral does this little private memoir impress upon those who are high in authority, upon whose knowledge and judgment of men and things, go often depend the destinies of nations! How careful should chiefs be, in the choice of their subordinates, to weigh well in the balance the present as well as past merits of applicants for office, lest, in the words of the venerated Washington, Time, which changes men as well as things, may have rendered them unworthy of being “marked for promotion.”

THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH.
JUNE 28, 1778.

The Commander-in-Chief (Washington) having completed his arrangements for bringing the enemy to a general action, proceeded slowly toward Monmouth court-house, early on the morning of the 28th of June, 1778.

In the council of war there were but two voices for risking a general engagement, Cadwallader, a gallant fellow, and devoted in his attachment to the Chief, and Anthony Wayne, who always said ay when fighting was to be had on any terms.

Washington certainly assumed a great responsibility in risking an engagement contrary to the opinions of a large majority of his generals, and notwithstanding the vast disparity of his forces when compared with those of his adversary—the disparity consisting more in the material of which the respective armies were composed than in their numerical estimates. But it is to be remembered that the two principal actions of the grand army in the preceding campaign, though bravely contested, had resulted unfortunately. Since the close of the campaign of ’77, an alliance had been formed with France, whose fleets and armies were hourly expected on our coasts, while the demands of the people, and those often loudly expressed, were for battles. Urged by these considerations, the America Chief, determined, happen what would, to fight Sir Henry Clinton, so that he should not evacuate Philadelphia, and reach his stronghold in New York unscathed. Crossing the Delaware, the American approached his formidable foe, who, trusting in his superiority of numbers, discipline and appointment, was leisurely wending his way toward Staten Island, the place of embarkation for New York.

As a soldier, Washington was by nature the very soul of enterprise; but, fortunately for his fame and for his country, this daring spirit was tempered by a judgment and prudence the most happy in their characters and effects. And yet an iIlustrious patriot and statesman of the Revolution, and most accomplished writer; (Mr. Jefferson,) has said that the Pater Patriæ was rather the Fabius than the Marcellus of war, his extreme caution fitting him better for the cool and methodical operations of seiges than for the daring strategy of surprise or the close and stubborn conflict of the field. Never was there such a misconception of a great soldier’s attributes. Did not this modern Fabius, in the very depth of winter, and after overcoming mighty obstacles, surprise his enemy at Trenton, and recall victory to his standard, when hope was almost sinking in despair? Did he not by a masterly manœuvre and midnight march surprise his enemy in Princeton, and add yet another laurel to the one acquired by the capture of the Hessians? Did he not with an army hastily raised, and defeated at Brandywine, in twenty-three days thereafter surprise the enemy at Germantown? And though victory was denied him by a force of circumstances no human power could have controlled, yet the boldness of the enterprise, and the success attending it in the outset, produced such a confidence abroad in our courage and resources as to lead to our alliance with a powerful nation. Did he not surprise the enemy at Monmouth? And although untoward events served to cripple the operations of the early part of the day, yet the setting sun shone upon the battle-field in possession of the Americans, the enemy retreating and their dead and wounded left as trophies to the victors. Such were the memorable instances in which Washington, with troops newly raised, and badly provided with every necessary of war, struck at his veteran and well appointed foe when leapt expected, producing the happiest influences upon the American cause, both at home and abroad; for it is perfectly well known that the battle of Germantown decided the ministry of France to form the alliance that so materially contributed to the conclusion of the war and the consummation of our Independence.

As the Commander-in-Chief, accompanied by a numerous suite, approached the vicinity of Monmouth court-house, he was met by a little fifer-boy, who archly observed, “they are all coming this way, your honor.” Who are coming, my little man, asked General Knox. “Why, our boys, your honor, our boys, and the British right after them,” replied the little musician. Impossible, exclaimed Washington! And giving the spur to his charger, proceeded at full gallop to an eminence a short distance ahead. There, to his extreme pain and mortification, it was discovered that the boy’s intelligence was but too true. The very elite of the American array, five thousand picked officers and men, were in full retreat, closely pursued by the enemy. The first inquiry of the Chief was for Major General Lee, who commanded the advance, and who soon appeared, when a warm conversation ensued, that ended by the major general being ordered to the rear. During this interview, an incident of rare and chivalric interest occurred. Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton, aid to the General-in-Chief, leaped from his home, and drawing his sword, addressed the General with, we are betrayed; your excellency and this army are betrayed; and the moment has arrived when every true friend of America and her cause must be ready to die in their defence. Washington, charmed with the generous enthusiasm of his favorite aid, yet deeming the same ill-timed, pointing to the colonel’s horse that was cropping the herbage, unconscious of the great scene enacting around him, calmly observed, Colonel Hamilton, you will take your horse.

The General-in-Chief now set himself in earnest about restoring the fortunes of the day. He ordered Colonel Stewart and Lieut. Colonel Ramsay, with their regiments, to check the advance of the enemy, which service was gallantly performed; while the General, in person, proceeded to form his second line. He rode on the morning of the 28th of June, and for that time only during the war, a white charger that had been presented to him. From the over-powering heat of the day, and the deep and sandy nature of the soil, the spirited horse sank under his rider, and expired on the spot. The Chief was instantly remounted upon a chestnut blood mare, with a flowing main and tail. It was upon this beautiful animal, covered with foam, that the American General flew along the line, cheering the soldiers in the familiar and endearing language ever used by the officer to the soldier of the Revolution, of “Stand fast, my boys, and receive your enemy; the southern troops are advancing to support ye.” The person of Washington, always graceful, dignified, and commanding, showed to peculiar advantage when mounted; it exhibited, indeed, the very beau ideal of a perfect cavalier. The good Lafayette, during his last visit to America, delighted to discourse of the “Times that tried men’s souls.” From that venerated friend of our country we derived a most graphic description of Washington and the field of battle. Lafayette said: “At Monmouth I commanded a division, and it may be supposed was pretty well occupied, still I took time, amid the roar and confusion of the conflict, to admire our beloved Chief, who, mounted on a splendid charger, rode along the ranks amid the shouts of the soldiers, cheering them by his voice and example, and restoring to our standard the fortunes of the fight. I thought then, as now (continued the good Lafayette) that never had I beheld so superb a man.”

Among the incidents of this memorable day may be considered, on the part of the British, the deplorable death of the Hon. Col. Monckton, a brother of Earl Galway. It is said this gallant and accomplished officer had greatly injured his fortune by the dissipations incident to a long sojourn in city quarters; and that, in consequence, he exposed himself recklessly on the 28th of June. He was much regretted in the British army.

On the part of the Americans, the fate of the young and brave Captain Fauntleroy, of the Virginia line, was remarkable. He was on horseback, at a well near a farm-house, waiving his turn, while the fainting soldiers, consumed by a thirst arising from their exertions on the hottest day supposed ever to have occurred in America, were rushing with frantic cries to the well, imploring for water. The captain, with the point of his sword resting on his boot, his arm leaning on the pommel, continued to waive his turn, when a cannon shot, bounding down the lane that led to the farm-house, struck the unfortunate officer near the hip, and hurled him to the ground a lifeless corpse. The lamented Fauntleroy was descended from one of the old and highly respected families of Virginia. Leaving the comforts of home and the delights of a large circle of friends, this gallant young soldier repaired to the standard of his country early in the campaign of 𔃏76. He was highly respected in his grade, and his untimely fate was deeply mourned in the American army.

Heedless of the remonstrances and entreaties of his officers, the Commander-in-Chief exposed his person to every danger throughout the action of the 28th of June. The night before the battle of Monmouth, a party of the general officers assembled, and resolved upon a memorial to the Chief, praying that he would not expose his person in the approaching conflict. His high and chivalric daring and contempt for danger at the battle of Princeton, and again at Germantown, where his officers seized the bridle of his horse, made his friends the more anxious for the preservation of a life so dear to all, and so truly important to the success of the common cause. It was determined that he memorial should be presented by Dr. Craik, the companion in arms of Colonel Washington in the war of ’55; but Craik at once assured the memorialists that, while their petition would be received as a proof of their affectionate regard for their General’s safety, it would not weigh a feather in preventing the exposure of his person, should the day go against them, and the presence of the Chief become important at the post of danger. Dr. Craik then related the romantic and imposing incident of the old Indian’s prophecy, as it occurred on the banks of the Ohio in 1770, observing that, bred, as he himself was, in the rigid discipline of the Kirk of Scotland, he possessed as little superstition as any one, but that really there was a something in the air and manner of an old savage chief delivering his oracle amid the depths of the forest, that time or circumstances would never erase from his memory, and that he believed with the tawny prophet of the wilderness, that their beloved Washington was the spirit-protected being described by the savage, that the enemy could not kill him, and that while he lived the glorious cause of American Independence would never die.

On the following day, while the Commander-in-Chief, attended by his officers, was reconnoitering the enemy from an elevated part of the field, a round shot from the British artillery struck but a little way from his horse’s feet, throwing up the earth over his person, and then bounding harmlessly away. The Baron Steuben, shrugging his shoulders, exclaimed “Dat wash very near,” while Dr. Craik, pleased with this instance of faith in the Indian’s prophecy, nodded to the officers who composed the party of the proceeding evening, and then pointing to Heaven, seemed to say, in the words of the savage prophet, “The Great Spirit protects him—he cannot die in battle.”

A ludicrous occurrence varied the incidents of the 28th of June. The servants of the general officers were usually well armed and mounted. Will Lee or Billy, the former huntsman and favorite body servant of the Chief, a square muscular figure, and capital horseman, paraded a corps of valets, and riding pompously at their head, proceeded to an eminence crowned by a large sycamare tree, from whence could be seen an extensive portion of the field of battle. Here Billy halted, and having unslung the large telescope that he always carried in a leathern case, with a martial air applied it to his eye, and reconnoitred the enemy. Washington having observed these manœuvres of the corps of valets, pointed them out to his officers, observing, “See those fellows collecting on yonder height; the enemy will fire on them to a certainty.” Meanwhile the British were not unmindful of the assemblage on the height, and perceiving a burly figure well mounted, and with a telescope in hand, they determined to pay their respects to the group. A shot from a six-pounder passed through the tree, cutting away the limbs, and producing a scampering among the corps of valets, that caused even the grave countenance of the General-in-Chief to relax into a smile.

Nor must we omit, among our incidents of the battle.of Monmouth, to mention the achievement of the famed Captain Molly, a nom de gerre given to the wife of a matross in Proctor’s artillery. At one of the guns of Proctor’s battery, six men had been killed or wounded. It was deemed an unlucky gun, and murmurs arose that it should be drawn back and abandoned. At this juncture, while Captain Molly was serving some water for the refreshment of the men, her husband, received a shot in the head, and fell lifeless under the wheels of the piece. The heroine threw down the pail of water, and crying to her dead consort, “lie there my darling while I revenge ye,” grasped the ramrod the lifeless hand of the poor fellow had just relinquished, sent home the charge, and called to the rnatrosses to prime and fire. It was done. Then entering the sponge into the smoking muzzle of the cannon, the heroine performed to admiration the duties of the most expert artilleryman, while loud shouts from the soldiers rang along the line: the doomed gun was no longer deemed unlucky, and the fire of the battery became more vivid than ever. The amazonian fair one kept to her post till night closed the action, when she was introduced to General Greene, who, complimenting her upon her courage and conduct, the next morning presented her to the Commander-in-Chief. Washington received her graciously, gave her a piece of gold, and assured her that her services should not be forgotten.

This remarkable and intrepid woman survived the Revolution, never for an instant laying aside the appellation she had so nobly won; and levying contributions upon both civil and military, whenever she recounted the tale of the doomed gun, and the fained Captain Molly at the battle of Monmouth.

On the night of this memorable conflict, Washington laid down in his cloak under a tree, in the midst of his brave soldiers. About midnight, an officer approached cautiously, fearful of awakening him, when the Chief called out, “Advance, sir, and deliver your errand. I laid here to think and not to sleep.”

In the morning, the American army prepared to renew the conflict, but the enemy had retired during the night, leaving their dead and many of their wounded to the care of the victors. Morgan’s mountaineers pursued on their trail, and made some captures, particularly the coach of a general officer.

The British grand army embarked from Staten Island. The number, order, and regularity of the boats, and the splendid appearance of the troops, rendered this embarkation one of the most brilliant and imposing spectacles of the Revolutionary war.

Congress passed a unanimous vote of thanks to the General-in-Chief, his officers, and soldiers, for, the promptness of their march from the Valley Forge, their surprise and defeat of the enemy, and a feu de joie was fired by the whole American army for the victory of Monmouth.

THE BATTLE OF GERMANTOWN, AND DEATH OF GENERAL NASH.
OCTOBER 4, 1777.

Undismayed by his defeat at the battle of the Brandywine, Washington hovered on the march of his enemy; not with the hope of saving Philadelphia, but with the determination to strike yet another blow before the conclusion of the campaign of 1777. Charmed with the courage displayed by his undisciplined soldiers, when opposed to a superior army of veterans, in the combat at Chadsford, the American General anxiously watched for an opportunity of again measuring his sword with that of his skilful and far better appointed adversary, though vast were the advantages in favor of the latter.

Sir William Howe, flushed, with his victory over the American Grand Army, and the occupation of the then capital of the American Union, and presuming that his foe was sufficiently subdued to give him no further molestation for the remainder of the campaign, quartered a large portion of his troops in the village of Germantown, about seven miles from the city of Philadelphia, while he despatched considerable detachments towards the positions still held by the American forces on the Delaware.

Washington promptly embraced the opportunity thus offered of striking at his powerful adversary with fair hopes of success. Gathering together all the troops within his reach, and having received some reinforcements, although they consisted mostly of new levies, the American Army broke up from its encampment, about fifteen miles from Gemantown, on the night of the 3d of October, and advanced upon the enemy in three columns, in order of battle.

During the night march, several incidents occurred that might be deemed ominous of the fortunes of the coming day. The celebrated Count Pulaski, who was charged with the service of watching the enemy and gaining intelligence, was said to have been found asleep in a farm house. But, although the gallant Pole might have been overtaken by slumber from the great fatigue growing out of the duties of the advanced guard, yet no soldier was more wide awake in the moment of combat than the intrepid and chivalric Count Pulaski. The delay in the arrival of the ammunition wagons was productive of the most serious consequences in the action of the succeeding day. The general officer to whom the blame of this delay was attached was afterwards discovered in a state of intoxication, lying in the corner of a fence. Lieutenant Benjamin Grimes, of the Life Guard, grasping the delinquent by the collar, placed him on his legs, and bade him go and do his duty, This bold proceeding on the part of a subaltern towards a general officer was certainly at variance with all rules or orders of discipline; but the exigency of the moment, and the degraded spectacle that an officer of high rank had presented to the eyes of the soldiery, would seem to have warranted a proceeding that, under different circumstances, must be considered as subversive of all military discipline. Grimes was a bold, brave soldier, enthusiastically attached to the cause of his country, and foremost among the asserters of her liberties. The general officer of whom we have spoken was brought to a court martial and cashiered.

The surprise was complete. Between daybreak and sunrise the British pickets were forced, and the Light Infantry, routed in their camp, fled in confusion, leaving their camp standing. So complete was the surprise that the officers’ watches were found hanging up in their marqueés, together with their portmanteaus and trunks of clothes, the latter affording a most seasonable booty to the American soldiery. Many of the tents and marqueés were burnt, owing to a want of transportation to carry them away. Although completely routed in the onset, the British light infantry rallied under their officers, and annoyed their enemy from every house, enclosure, or other defensible position that offered in the line of their retreat; thus showing the mighty power of discipline over broken troops, and its invaluable influences amid the greatest emergencies of war.

Six companies of the 40th regiment, under their lieutenant colonel, being hard pressed by the advancing columns of the Americans, threw themselves into Chew’s house, a strongly constructed stone building, and, barricading the lower windows, opened a destructive fire from the cellars and upper windows. The Americans, finding their musketry made no impression, were in the act of dragging up their cannon to batter the walls, when a ruse de guerre was attempted, which, however, failed of success. An officer galloped up from the house and cried out, “What are you about; you will fire upon your own people.” The artillery opened, but after fifteen or twenty rounds, the pieces were found to be of too small caliber to make a serious impression, and were withdrawn.

A most daring and chivalric attempt was now made to fire the building. Lieut. Col. Laurens, aid-de-camp to the Commander-in-Chief, with a few volunteers, rushed up to the house under cover of the smoke, and applied a burning brand to the principal door, at the same time exchanging passes with the sword with the enemy on the inside. By almost a miracle, this gallant and accomplished officer escaped unharmed, although his clothes were repeatedly torn by the enemy’s shot. Another and equally daring attempt was made by Major White, aid-de-camp to General Sullivan, but without as fortunate a result. The Major, while in the act of firing one of the cellar windows, was mortally wounded, and died soon after.

Washington accompanied the leading division of Major Gen. Sullivan, and cheered his soldiers in their brilliant onset, as they drove the enemy from point to point. Arrived in the vicinity of Chew’s house, the Commander-in-Chief halted to consult his officers as to the best course to be pursued towards this fortress that had so suddenly and unexpectedly sprung up in their way. The younger officers who were immediately attached to the person of the Chief, and among the choicest spirits of the Revolution, including the high and honored names of Hamilton, of Reed, of Pinckney, of Laurens, and of Lee, were for leaving Chew’s house to itself, or of turning the seige into a blockade, by stationing in its vicinity a body of troop to watch the movements of the garrison, and pressing on with the column in pursuit of the flying enemy. But the sages of the army, at the head of whom was Major General Knox, repulsed at once the idea of leaving a fortified enemy in the rear, as contrary to the wages of war, and the most approved military authorities.

At this period of the action the fog had become so dense that objects could scarcely be distinguished at a few yards’ distance. The Americans had penetrated the enemy’s camp even to their second line, which was drawn up to receive them about the centre of Germantown. The ammunition of the right wing, including the Maryland brigades, became exhausted, the soldiers holding up their empty cartridge boxes when their officers called on them to rally and face the enemy. The extended line of operations, which embraced nearly two miles, the unfavorable nature of the ground in the environs of Germantown for the operations of troops, a large portion of whom were undisciplined, the ground being much cut up, and intersected by stone fences and enclosures of various sorts, the delay of die left wing under Greene in getting into action—all these causes, combined with an atmosphere so dense from fog and smoke as to make it impossible to distinguish friend from foe, produced a retreat in the American army at the moment when victory seemed to be within its grasp.

Washington was among the foremost in his endeavors to restore the fortunes of the day, and while exerting himself to rally his broken columns, the exposure of his person became so imminent, that his officers, after affectionately remonstrating with him in vain, seized the bridle of his horse. The retreat under all circumstances was quite as favorable as could be expected. The whole of the artillery was saved, and as many of the wounded as could be removed. The Ninth Virginia Regiment, under Col. Mathews, having penetrated so far as to be without support, after a desperate resistance, surrendered its remnant of a hundred men, including its gallant Colonel, who bed received several bayonet wounds. The British pursued but two or three miles, making prisoners of the worn-out soldiers, who, after a night march of 15 miles and an action of three hours, were found exhausted and asleep in the fields and along the roads.

While gallantly leading the North Carolina brigade, that formed part of the reserve into action, General Nash was mortally wounded. A round shot from the British artillery striking a sign-post in Germantown, glanced therefrom, and passing through his horse, shattered the General’s thigh on the opposite side. The fall of the animal hurled its unfortunate rider with considerable force to the ground. “With surpassing courage and presence of mind, General Naah covering his wound with both, of his hands, gaily called to his men, “Never mind me, I have had a devil of a tumble; rush on, my boys, rush on the enemy, I’ll be after you presently.” Human nature could do no more. Faint from loss of blood and the intense agony of his wound, the sufferer was borne to a house hard by, and attended by Dr. Craik, by special order of the Commander-in-Chief. The Doctor gave his patient but feeble hopes of recovery, even with the chances of amputation, when Nosh observed, “It may be considered unmanly to complain, but my agony is too great for human nature to bear. I am aware that my days, perhaps hours are numbered, but I do not repine at my fate. I have fallen ort the field of honor while leading my brave Carolinians to the assault of the enemy. I have a last request to make of his excellency the Commander-in-Chief, that he will permit you, my dear Doctor, to remain with me to protect me while I live, and my remains from insult.” Dr. Craik assured the General that he had nothing to fear from the enemy; it was impossible that they would harm him while living, or offer an insult to his remains; that Lord Cornwallis was by this time in the field, and that under his auspices a wounded officer would be treated with humanity and respect. The dying patriot and hero then uttered these memorable words: “I have no favors to expect from the enemy. I have been consistent in my principles and conduct since the commencement of the troubles. From the very first dawn of the Revolution I have ever been on the side of liberty and my country.”

He lingered in extreme torture between, two and three days, and died admired by his enemies, admired and lamented by his companions in arms. On Thursday, the 9th of October, the whole American army was paraded by order of the Commander-in-Chief to perform the funeral obsequies of General Nash, and never did the warrior’s last tribute peal the requiem of a braver soldier or noble patriot than of the illustrious son of North Carolina.

Taking rank with the chiefs who had fallen in the high and holy cause of a Nation’s Independence, the name of Nash will be associated with the martyr names of Warren, Montgomery, Wooster, Mercer, while the epitaph to be graven on his monumental marble should be the memorable words of the Patriot and Hero on the field of his fame: “From the very first dawn of the Revolution, I have ever been on the side of liberty and my country.”

It was not the halt at Chew’s house, it was not the denseness of the fog, that produced the unfortunate termination of the battle of the 4th of October. Time, that sheds the sober and enduring colors of truth over the events of the world, has determined that the misfortunes of the battle of Germantown are rather to be ascribed to the undisciplined character of a large proportion of the American troops, than to all other causes combined. Washington’s oldest Continental Regiments were of but little more than a year’s standing, while many of his troop had seen but a few months, and some but a few weeks’ service. With all these disadvantages, the plan of the surprise of Germantown was ably conceived and gallantly executed in the outset, and failed of complete success only from circumstances beyond all human control.

Congress passed a unanimous resolution consolatory to the feelings of the Commander-in-Chief his officers and soldiers, under their disappointment, intimating “that it was not in nature to command success,” but their brave army “had done more; it had deserved it.”

The effects resulting from the battle of Germantown were most happy both at home and abroad. The enemy were taught to respect American troops, which they had affected to despise, and Sir William Howe deemed it prudent to draw in all his outposts, and shelter himself in Philadelphia, which proved a great relief to a large and valuable portion of the adjacent country. Indeed, it becomes the duty of the historian to declare that matters might have been much worse on the 4th of October. When the Americans retreated, the second line of the enemy was in great force, having been but little impaired in the action, while the reserve, consisting of the Grenadiers, were close at hand to sustain their comrades, those chosen fellows having at the first alarm, seized their arms and ran without halting the distance from the commons of Philadelphia to Germantown. Howe’s army in 1777, without disparagement of the British service before or since that time, may be considered as the finest body of troops that ever embarked from the British dominions; yet such was the alarm and confusion into which these veterans were thrown by the masterly surprise of Germantown, and such the courage and vigor displayed by the Americans in their attacks in the early part of the day, that a rendezvous at Cheater became a measure of serious contemplation among the commanders of the British army.

But the most happy and imposing influences upon America and her cause, resulting from the battle of Germantown, were experienced abroad. Eh, mon Dieu, exclaimed the Count de Vergunnes the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, to the American Commissioners in Paris, “What is this you tell me, Messieurs; another battle, and the British grand army surprised in its camp at Germantown, Sir William and his veterans routed and flying for two hours, and a great victory only denied to Washington by a tissue of accidents beyond all human control. Ah, ah, these Americans are an elastic people. Press them down to-day, they rise to-morrow. And then, my dear sirs, these military wonders to be achieved by an army raised within a single year, opposed to the skill, discipline, and experience of European troops, commanded by generals grown gray in war. The brave Americans, they are worthy of the aid of France. They will succeed at last.”

The winter of 1777 set in early, and with unusual severity. The military operations of both armies had ceased, when a detachment of the Southern troops were seen plodding their weary way to winter quarters at the Valley Forge. The appearance of the horse-guard announced the approach of the Commander-in-Chief: the officer commanding the detachment, choosing the most favorable ground, paraded his men to pay to their General the honors of the passing salute. As Washington rode slowly up, he was observed to be eyeing very earnestly something that attracted his attention on the frozen surface of the road. Having returned the salute with that native grace, that dignified air and manner, that won the admiration of the soldiery of the old Revolutionary day, the Chief reigned up his charger, and ordering the commanding officer of the detachment to his side, addressed him as follows: “How comes it, sir, that I have tracked the march of your troops by the blood stains of their feet upon the frozen ground? Were there no shoes in the Commissary’s stores, that this sad spectacle is to be seen along the public highways?” The officer replied: “Your excellency may rest assured that this sight is as painful to my feelings as it can be to yours; but there is no remedy within our reach. When the shoes were issued, the different regiments were served in turn; it was our misfortune to be among the last to be served, and the stores became exhausted before we could obtain even the smallest supply.”

The General was observed to be deeply affected by his officer’s description of the soldiers’ privations and sufferings. His compressed lips, the heaving of his manly chest, betokened the powerful emotions that were struggling in his bosom, when, turning toward the troops with a voice tremulous yet kindly, Washington exclaimed, Poor fellows; then giving rein to his charger rode away.

During this’ touching interview every eye was bent upon the Chief, every ear was attentive to catch his words; and when those words reached the soldiers, warm from the heart of their beloved commander, and in tones of sorrow and commiseration for their sufferings, a grateful but subdued expression burst from every lip, of God bless your excellency, your poor soldiers’ friend.

In this interesting event in the life and actions of Washington, he appears in a new light. He is no longer the grave, the dignified, the awe-inspiring and unapproachable General-in-Chief of the armies of his country. All these characteristics have vanished, and the Pater Patrræ appears amid his companions in arms in all hi moral grandeur, giving vent to his native goodness of heart.

WASHINGTON:
His person and personal appearance. Anecdotes of his great physical prowess.

In person Washington was unique: he looked like no one else. To a stature lofty and commanding, he united a form of the manliest proportions, limbs cast in Nature’s finest mould, and a carriage the most dignified, graceful, and imposing. No one ever approached the Pater Patriæ that did not feel his presence.

So long ago as the vice regal court at Williamsburg, in the days of Lord Botetourt, Col. Washington was remarkable for his splendid person, the air with which he wore a small sword, and his peculiar walk, that had the light elastic tread acquired by his long service on the frontier, and was a matter of much observation, especially to foreigners.

While Col. Washington was on a visit to New York in 1773, it was boasted at the table of the British Governor that a regiment just lauded from England contained among its officers some of the finest specimens of martial elegance in his Majesty’s service—in fact the most superb looking fellows ever landed upon the shores of the new world. “I wager your Excellency a pair of gloves,#8221; said a Mrs. Morris, an American lady, “that I will show you a finer man in the procession to-morrow than your Excellency can select from your famous regiment.” “Done, madam,” replied the Governor. The morrow came, (the 4th of June,) and the procession in honor of the birthday of the King advanced through Broadway to the strains of military music. As the troops defiled before the Governor, he pointed out to the lady several officers by name, claiming her admiration for their superior persons and brilliant equipments. In rear of the troops came a band of officers not on duty, of colonial officers, and strangers of distinction. Immediately on their approach, the attention of the Governor was seen to be directed toward a tall and martial figure, that marched with grave and measured tread, apparently indifferent to the scene around him. The lady now archly observed, “I perceive that your Excellency’s eyes are turned to the right object; what say you to your wager now, sir?” “Lost, madam,” replied the gallant Governor: “When I laid my wager, I was not aware that Col. Washington was in New York.”

To a question that we have been asked a thousand and one times, viz., to what individual, known to any who are yet living, did the person of Washington bear the nearest resemblance? we answer, to Ralph Izard, Senator from South Carolina, in the first Congress under the Constitution. The form of Izard cart in Nature’s manliest mould; while his air and manner were both dignified and imposing. He acquired great distinction, while pursuing his studies in England, for his remarkable prowess in the athletic exercises of that distant period.

An officer of the Life Guard has been often heard to observe, that the Commander-in-Chief was thought to be the strongest man in his army, and yet what thews and sinews were to be found in the army of the Revolution. In 1781, a company of riflemen from the county of Augusta, in Virginia, reinforced the troops of Lafayette. As the stalwart band of mountaineers defiled before the General, the astonished and admiring Frenchman exclaimed: “Mon Dieu! what a people are these Americans; they have reinforced me with a band of giants!”

Washington’s great physical powers were in his limbs: they were long, large, and sinewy. His frame was of equal breadth from the shoulders to the hips. His chest, though broad and expansive, was not prominent, but rather hollowed in the centre. He had suffered from a pulmonary affection in early life, from which he never entirely recovered. His frame showed an extraordinary development of bone and muscle; his joints were large, as were his feet; and could a cast have been preserved of his hand, to be exhibited in these degenerate days, it would be said to have belonged to the being of a fabulous age. During the last visit of Lafayette to Mount Vernon, among many and interesting relations of events that occurred in olden days, he said to the writer; “It was in this portico that you were introduced to me in 1784; you were then holding by a single finger of the good General’s remarkable hand, which was all that you could do, my dear sir, at that time.”

In the various exhibitions of Washington’s great physical prowess, they were apparently attended by scarcely any effort. When he overthrew the strong man of Virginia in wrestling, while many of the finest of the young athletes of the times were engaged in the manly games, Washington had retired to the shade of a tree, intent upon the perusal of a favorite volume; and it was only when the champion of the game strode through the ring, calling for nobler competitors, and taunting the student with the reproach that it was the fear of encountering so redoubted an antagonist that kept him from the ring, that Washington closed his book, and without divesting himself of his coat, calmly walked into the arena, observing that fear formed no part of his being; then grappling with the champion, the struggle was fierce but momentary, for, said the vanquished hero of the arena, in Washington’s lion-like grasp I became powerless, and was hurled to the ground with a force that seemed to jar the very marrow in my bones; while the victor, regardless of the shouts that proclaimed his triumph, leisurely retired to his shade, and the enjoyment of his favorite volume.

The power of Washington’s arm was displayed in several memorable instances—in his throwing a stone across the Rappahannock river below Fredericksburg, another from the bed of the stream to the top of the Natural Bridge, and yet another over the Palisades into the Hudson. While the late and venerable C. H. Peale was at Mount Vernon in 1772, engaged in painting the portrait of the provincial Colonel, some young men were contending in the exercise of pitching the bar. Washington looked on for a time, then grasping the missile in his master hand, whirled the iron through the air, which took the ground far, very far, beyond any of its former limits—the Colonel observing, with a smile, “You perceive, young gentlemen, that my ark yet retains some portion of the vigor of my earlier days.” He was then in his fortieth year, and probably in the full meridian of his physical powers; but those powers became rather mellowed than decayed by time, for “his age was like a lusty winter, frosty yet kindly,” and, up to his sixty-eighth year, he mounted a horse with surprising agility, and rode with the ease and gracefulness of his better days. His personal prowess, that elicited the admiration of a people who have nearly all passed from the stage of life, still serves as a model for the manhood of modern times.

With all its development of muscular power, the form of Washington had no appearance of bulkiness, and so harmonious were its proportions, that he did not appear so passing tall as his portraits have represented. He was rather spare than full during his whole life; this is readily ascertained from his weight. The last time he weighed was in the summer of 1799, when having made the tour of his farms, accompanied by an English gentleman, he called at his mill and weighed. The writer placed the weight in the scales. The Englishman, not so tall, but stout, square built, and fleshy, weighed heavily, and expressed much surprise that the General had not outweighed him, when Washington observed that the best weight of his best days never exceeded from 210 to 220. In the instance alluded to he weighed a little rising 210.

Of the portraits of Washington, the most of them give to his person a fulness that it did not posses, together with an abdominal enlargement greater than in the life, while his matchless limbs have in but two instances been faithfully portrayed—in the equestrian portrait by Trumbull of 1790, a copy of which is in the City Hall of New York, and in an engraving by Losier, from a painting by Coginet, French artists of distinguished merit. The latter is not an original painting, the head being from Stuart, but the delineation of the limbs is the most perfect extant.

Of the remarkable degree of awe and reference that the presence of Washington always inspired, we shall give one out of one thousand instances. During the cantonment of the American army at the Valley Forge, some officers of the 4th Pennsylvania regiment were engaged in a game of fives. In the midst of their sport they discovered the Commander-in-Chief leaning upon the enclosure and beholding the game with evident satisfaction. In a moment all things were changed. The ball was suffered to roll idly away, the gay laugh and joyous shout of excitement were hushed into a profound silence, and the officers were gravely grouped together. It was in vain the chief begged of the players that they would proceed with their game, declared the pleasure he had experienced from witnessing their skill, spoke of a proficiency in the manly exercise that he himself could have boasted of in other days. All would not do. Not a man could be induced to move, till the General, finding that his presence hindered the officers from continuing the amusement, bowed, and wishing them good sport, retired.

THE HEADQUARTERS.

Many of the establishments that constituted the Headquarters in the War of the Revolution yet remain for the veneration of the Americans; At Cambridge, Morristown, Newburg, West Point, New Windsor, and other places, the buildings are still preserved, but of the Valley Forge it is doubtful whether there exists at this time any remains of the Headquarters $6 memorable in the history of the days of trial.

If the Headquarters at Morristown were bleak and gloomy, from being located in a mountainous region, and occupied in the depth of winter, the soldier was cheered amid his privations by the proud and happy remembrance of his triumphs at the close of the campaign of 1776. Not such were the associations that attended the Headquarters at Valley Forge, at the close of the campaign of 1777. The American army, defeated in two hard-fought general engagements, beheld its enemy comfortably housed in Philadelphia, while it was compelled at an inclement season to retire to a forest, there to erect hub for shelter, and where it afterwards endured the greatest extremities of human suffering. But Washington was in the midst of his faithful companions in arms, ever employed in limiting their privations, in alleviating a their miseries, and holding up to them the hopes of better fortunes. And oft in the rude wintry night, when the tempest howled among the hovels, and the shivering sentry paced his lonely round, would his eye be attracted to the taper that burned in the Headquarters, whore the man of mighty labors, watching while others slept, toiled in the cause of unborn millions.

At the Headquarters of the Valley Forge occurred some of the most memorable incidents of the War of Independence. It was there the General received the appalling intelligence that not another ration was in store to issue to his troops. It was there that he was forced, by a stern and painful necessity, to use the high powers vested in him by Congress, to seize upon provisions for the relief of his starving soldiers. It was there, while struggling with dangers and difficulties, while borne down with the cares and sorrows of his country’s cause, that Washington was informed of the cabal then agitating in Congress and the army for the removal of the Commander-in-Chief.

But with all these glooms there were glories, too, that shed their lustre upon the Headquarters of the Valley Forge. It was there first proclaimed to the army the grateful tidings of the alliance with France; and it was from that scene of so many trials and sufferings, that on the return of the genial season, the modern Fabias marched again to grapple with his formidable and well-appointed foe, and to wrest from him, after a most gallant and hard-fought conflict, a glorious victory on the plains of Monmouth.

The Headquarters were under canvass during the siege and after the surrender of Yorktown. The marqueés of the Commander-in-Chief were pitched in the rear of the grand battery, just out of the range of the enemy’s shells. There were two marquees attached to the Headquarters during all the campaigns. The larger, or banqueting tent, would contain from forty to fifty persons; the smaller or sleeping tent had an inner chamber, where, on a hard cot-bed, the Chief reposed. There is a most interesting reminiscence attached to the sleeping tent. The Headquarters, even during the summer season, were located, in a great majority of instances, in private dwellings, the sleeping tent being pitched in the yard or very near at hand. Within its venerable folds, Washington was in the habit of seeking privacy and seclusion, where he could commune with himself, and where he wrote the most memorable of his despatches in the Revolutionary war. He would remain in the retirement of the sleeping tent some times for hours, giving orders to the officer of his guard that he should on no account be disturbed, save on the arrival of an important express. The objects of his seclusion being accomplished, the Chief would appear at the canvass door of the marqueé with despatches in his hand, giving which to his secretary to copy and transmit, he would either mount his charger for a tour of inspection, or return to the Headquarters and-enjoy social converse with his officers.

The marqueés were made in Third street, Philadelphia, under the direction of Captain Moulder, of the artillery, and were first pitched on the Heights of Dorchester, in August, 1776.

The life-guard was attached to the Headquarters from the time of its formation till the end of the war. This chosen corps of picked men, with Gibbs and Colfax, and their gallant officers, was always in the finest order, proud of its being attached to the person of the Chief, and appearing smart and soldierly, even in the worst times.

In our Memoirs of the Pater Patriæ, we shall continue to introduce some mention of the distinguished pat[r]iots, statesmen, and soldiers who enjoyed his intimacy, and were dear to his affections. High on this honored list appears in bold relief the name of Jonathan Trumbull, the patriotic governor of Connecticut during the whole of the Revolution. He was, indeed, more fitted for the times in which he flourished, and such a one as revolution alone seems capable of producing. Wise to conceive, and energetic to execute, his prudence equalled his courage in the conspicuous part he was destined to bear in those momentous concerns that eventuated in the Independence of his country; yet did be “bear his high offices so meekly” that he was as deservedly beloved for the mildness of his private virtues as he was admired for, the stern unyielding integrity with which he discharged his public duties. It is enough for his fame or his epitaph that he was a man after Washington’s own heart.

When the news arrived in Connecticut of the battle of Lexington, Putnam, who was ploughing in his field, instantly repaired to the Governor for orders. “Go,” said Trumbull “to the scene of action.” “But my clothes, Governor!” “Oh, never mind your clothes,” continued Trumbull, “your military experience will be of service to your countrymen.” “But my men, Governor; what shall I do about my men?” “Oh, never mind your men,” continued the man for the times, “I’ll send your men after you.” Putnam hurried to Cambridge.

One of the most urgent appeals for assistance that ever emanated from the American Headquarters was contained in a dispatch to the Governor of Connecticut. It was dated from the camp, near the North river, in the latter years of the war.

Governor Trumbull was alone in his room of business; on the table were various letters and despatches, some just opened and others seated for immediate transmission; a cocked hat of the cut and fashion of the days of George II, the Governor’s sole insignia of office, was also on the table, while the Chief Magistrate himself was busily engaged in writing.

An aid-de-camp of the Commander-in-Chief was introduced, much worn and “travel stained” from the haste of his journey. The Governor row, and while cordially welcoming Colonel ——, inquired after the health of his excellency, and what news from the army. The aid-de-camp replied that the Genera1 was well, and the news from the army of a very sombre character, and presented a letter. The letter was very short. It contained an apology from Washington for having applied for assistance where it had been so often and so liberally rendered before, but continued that the situation of the Army was critical in the extreme, the country adjacent to the camp being completely exhausted, as well by the enemy’s as by his own foraging parties; and concluded by lamenting that, unless supplies could be speedily obtained, he should be obliged to abandon his position, and fall back in to the interior to obtain the necessary subsistence for the troops.

The Governor pondered for a moment upon the contents of the letter, then rising, and cordially grasping the Colonel by the hand, observed, in a firm, yet cheerful tone, “When you return to camp, bear with you, my dear sir, my love and duty to his excellency, and say to him that brave old Connecticut, patriotic Connecticut, is not quite exhausted, but for every barrel of provisions she has furnished to the cause of liberty, she will furnish another, and yet another to the same glorious cause; say further, that on such a day our teams may be looked for on the bank of the North river.” The aid-de-camp departed rejoicing.

And now the patriot became “every inch” the executive officer. From his-intimate acquaintance with the resources of his native State, he knew exactly where those resources were to be obtained, and their facilities for transportation, for with him every thing was done by method and regularity. His orders flew in all directions. His orders were obeyed.

Meantime the return of the aid-de-camp to Headquarters with intelligence of the promised supplies diffused a general gladness throughout the army. When the expected day arrived, many an anxious eye was turned to the road leading from the eastward to the landing on the North river; a dust is seen in the distance, and presently are beard the cries of the teamsters, urging their fine oxen, while the heavy-laden wains groan under their generous burdens. A shout rise through the American camp, and the Commander-in-Chief, attended by his officers, rode to an eminence to witness the arrival of the welcome supplies.

Governor Trumbull two sons attached to the Headquarters, John, the distinguished artist and the last of the aids-de-camp, and Jonathan,, Military Secretary to the Commander-in-chief at the siege of Yorktown.

But one attempt was made to surprise the Headquarters during the war. The army lay in Jersey. The enemy, taking advantage of their facilities for water communication, and under cover of night, landed in considerable force a short distance above the American camp, and made a spirited attack upon its outposts. The alarm soon extended to the Headquarters, where Lady Washington (always so called by the soldiers) and the ladies of several of the general officers were sojourning during the winter quarters. The life-guard rushed to the house, the windows were taken out in a moment, the doors barricaded, and the rooms and staircases filled with armed men. Cannon were dragged into the yards, and every preparation made for a vigorous defence. An aid-de-camp proposed that the ladies should be removed under an escort to a place of safety. This Washington at once refused, gallantly observing, “No, Colonel, let the ladies remain where they are, that they may see how bravely we will defend them;” and then mounted his charger, and proceeded to the scene of action. Meantime the firing was distinctly heard, and evidences of battle became painfully apparent in the wounded borne along in the arms of their comrades in search of medical assistance. After a short, but sharp skirmish, the firing ceased altogether; the enemy, finding themselves baffled in their hopes of a surprise, retreated to their boats, and gained the eastern bank of the Hudson. Day was now breaking, and the ladies were gratified in beholding the Commander-in-Chief, with his staff and the general officers, returning at full gallop to the Headquarters.

Among the great variety of persons and character that were to be found from time to time at and about the Headquarters, was the famed Captain Molly. After her heroic achievements at the battle of Monmouth, the heroine was always received with a cordial welcome at Headquarters, where she was employed in the duties of the household. She always wore an artilleryman’s coat, with the cocked hat and feather, the distinguishing costume of Proctor’s artillery. One day the Chief accosted this remarkable woman, while she was engaged in washing some clothes, pleasantly observing: “Well, Captain Molly, are you not almost tired of this quiet way of life, and longing to be once more on the field of battle?” “Troth, your Excellency,” replied the heroine, “and ye may say that; for I care not how soon I have another slap at them red coats, bad luck to them.” “But what is to become of your petticoats in such an event, Captain Molly?” “Oh, long life to your excellency, and never de ye mind them at all, at all,” continued this intrepid female. “Sure, and it is only in the artillery your Excellency know that I would sarve, and divil a fear but the smoke of the cannon will hide my petticoats.”

The name and memory of Headquarters expired not with the war of the Revolution, but was preserved in the Presidoliads of New York and Philadelphia, where hundreds of the war-worn veterans of the days of trial repaired, as they said, to Headquarters to pay their respects, and inquire after the health of his Excellency and the good Lady Washington. All were made welcome and “kindly bid to stay;” and while they quaffed a generous glass to the health of their beloved Chief, the triumphs of Trenton and Princeton, of Monmouth and Yorktown, “were freshly remembered.”

And poor Pat, too, reverently, with hat in hand, would approach the Headquarters. “To be sure, he would say, that he well knew his Excellency had no time to spare to the likes of him. He just called to inquire after his honor’s health, long life to him and to the good Lady Washington, the poor soldier’s friend.” But, taking the steward aside, with a knowing look, would observe: “Now, my darlint, if his excellency should happen to inquire who it was that called, jist tell him it was one of ould Mad Anthony’s boys. Hurray for Ameriky!” And repeating the shout that so often had rang above the battle’s roar, the veteran would go on his way rejoicing.

It may be in the course of human events, that upon the places at Morristown and the Valley Forge, where the soldier of liberty erected his cheerless hut, the domes and spires of cities may arise in the splendid progress of a mighty empire, but the patriotic American of that future day, proud of the fame of the Father of his Country, and glorying in the recollections of America’s heroic time, will pass by the palaces of pomp and power to pay homage to the mouldering ruins of the Headquarters.

ALEXANDER HAMILTON.

Faithful to our purpose of giving, in the course of this work, brief Memoirs of the distinguished characters of the age of Washington, who were either attached to his person or stood high in his esteem, next to Nathaniel Greene and Robert Morris, we introduce Alexander Hamilton.

In this illustrious individual were united the patriot, the soldier, the statesman, the jurist, the orator, and philosopher, and he was great in them all. Born in the Island of Nevis, the first rudiments of his education were obtained in Santa Cruz, from which, at a very early age, he came to America, and completed his studies at Columbia College, in New York. In that city the Revolution found the West Indian engaged in the direction of an extensive mercantile concern, where the youthful aspirant for liberty soon laid aside his ledger, and wielded his pen, ere he drew his sword, for the natural rights of mankind.

Among the efforts then making in behalf of the royal cause in New York, were a series of able essays, published with a view to alarm the patriots as to a rupture with the mother country, urging that, in such an event, all supplies of clothing would be withheld, and thus the most serious privations be endured by the colonists. Young Hamilton wrote a powerful reply to these essays, in which he proved that resources abounded in the country; and then, for the first time in the world, it was left for this precocious genius to predict that the cotton plant could and would be grown in the southern colonies, and would yield an abundance of the raw material for the supply of our wants.

The troubles increasing, Mr. Hamilton spoke of revisiting the West, Indies, with a view to recruit his finances; this the patriots of New York would not hear of for a moment; they had witnessed the powers of his pen, and wished him to try the temper of his sword. “Well, my friends,” said the gallant youth, “if you are determined that I shall remain among ye, and take part in your just and holy cause, you must raise for me a full company of artillery.” This was done, and Captain Hamilton lost no time in enlisting the services of several veteran artillerists, and by constant drilling, soon brought his company into a very high state of order and discipline. He remained in New York diligently engaged in his military duties, until the Asia, Admiral Pandeput, fired upon the city. Retreat becoming necessary, Hamilton here displayed that noble disinterestedness and disregard of self that adorned all the subsequent actions, whether public or private, of his illustrious life. A cart, drawn by a single horse, contained the baggage of this young officer. He ordered his baggage to be abandoned, and the horse that drew it to be harnessed to the cannon.

Hamilton’s military talents were apparent in very early life. Previous to the battle of Long Island, he crossed over to Brooklyn, and thence, by examining the positions of the American forces with a military eye, he became convinced that with such materials as composed the American army, a conflict with troops which consisted of all soldiers would be hopeless of success. Filled with these ideas, Hamilton addressed an anonymous letter to the Commander-in-Chief, detailing many and forcible arguments against risking an action, and warmly recommending a retreat to the strong grounds of the main land. The letter created no little surprise in the mind of the General, but it was mixed with respect for the talent displayed by the writer. The disastrous battle of Long Island is a matter of history.

The letter of which we have made such honorable mention was forwarded to the General by M——, afterwards celebrated for having conveyed to the American commander the most important information during the occupancy of New York by the British army. The morning after Washington made his triumphal entry into the city of New York, 25th November, 1783, he breakfasted with M——, to the wonder of the Tories and the perfect horror of the Whigs.

Hamilton’s artillery joined the American army, and took part in the memorable retreat through the Jerseys. It was, as we have before related, at the passage of the Raritan, near Brunswick, that Hamilton first attracted the notice of the Commander-in-Chief, who, while posted on the river bank, and contemplating with anxiety the passage of the troops, was charmed by the brilliant courage and admiral skill displayed by a young officer of artillery, who directed a battery against the enemy’s advanced columns that pressed upon the Americans in their retreat by the ford. The General ordered Lieutenant Colonel Fitzgerald, his aid-de-camp, to ascertain who this young officer was, and bid him repair to Headquarters at the first halt of the army.

At the interview that ensued, Washington quickly discovered in the young patriot and warrior those eminent qualities of the head and heart that shed such a renown upon the actions of his after life. From that interview Washington “marked him for his own.”

The American Commander-in-Chief was peculiarly happy in the selection of the officers of his military family, of his guard, &38;.c., save in a solitary instance, and in that instance the individual served but for a very short time. The members of the military family and of the life-guard were gentlemen of the first order in intellect, patriotism, and all right soldierly qualities—they were attached to the Chief and to each other. Hamilton and Laurens were kindred spirits, brothers alike in arms, in affection, and in accomplishments, and might be styled the preux chevaliers of the American Army.

Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton was at the side of the Chief during the most eventful periods of the Revolutionary war. In the memorable campaigns of 1777 and 1778, the habit at the Headquarters was for the General to dismiss his officers at a very late hour of the night to snatch a little repose, while he, the man of mighty labors, drawing his cloak around him, and trimming his lamp, would throw himself upon a hard couch, not to sleep, but to think. Close to his master (wrapped in a blanket, but “all accoutred” for instant service) snored the stout yet active form of Billy, the celebrated body servant during the whole of the Revolutionary war.

At this late lone hour silence reigned in the Headquarters, broken only by the measured pacing of the sentinels, and the oft-repeated cry of “all’s well;” when suddenly the sound of a horse-tramp, at speed, is borne upon the night wind, then the challenging of the guard, and the passing the word of an express from the lines to the Commander-in-Chief. The despatches being opened and read, there would be heard in the calm deep tones of that voice, so well remembered by the good and the brave in the old days of our country’s trial, the command of the Chief to his now watchful attendant, “Call Colonel Hamilton.”

The remarkable conduct of the aid-de-camp during the exciting interview of Washington and Major General Lee, on the field of Monmouth, as has been related in another part of this work, caused no little sensation in the army at that time. It was, indeed, a generous burst of enthusiasm, emanating from a noble and gallant spirit, that, pure in its own devotion to the cause of liberty, viewed with indignation and abhorrence even the suspicion of treachery in another. It is somewhat singular that there were several distinguished officers of the American army, who, judging from events at the close of the campaign of 1776, anticipated some defection on the part of Lee, on his return from captivity, and rejoining his former colors; yet it was left for a member of a different cloth from the military to give the first alarm to the Commander-in-Chief on this momentous subject. The Rev. Dr. Griffith, a Welshman by birth, a warm patriot in the cause of America, and chaplain to one of the Virginia regiments, repaired to the Headquarters at a late hour of the night preceding the battle of Monmouth: and warned the chief against the employment of Major General Lee to command the advance guard on the ensuing morning—a command which that veteran officer had at first declined. Washington received the information cautiously, nay, doubtingly, when the reverend gentleman, on making his bow to retire, observed, “I am not permitted to say more at present, but your Excellency will remember my warning voice to-morrow in the battle.”

From a difficul[t]y that occurred in 1780, Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton retired from the Headquarters, and assumed his rank in the line, in the command of a battalion of light infantry, then the crack corps of the army. With this command he marched to the south in 1781. At the siege of Yorktown, it was determined to storm the two advanced redoubts of the enemy, and the selection of officers and men for this daring achievement was entrusted to Major General the Marquis de Lafayette. The Marquis lost no time in choosing as the officer who was to lead the assault Lieutenant Colonel Gimet, a gallant Frenchman, who had been attached to the Marquis’s military family. Hamilton, belonging to the division of light infantry commanded by Lafayette, was about to prefer his claim, when his warmest friends and admirers dissuaded him, owing, as they said, to the vast influence in favor of the Frenchman, from the presence of a splendid French fleet and army, and the universal desire of doing every possible honor to our generous and gallant allies. Hamilton observed, “I am aware that I have mighty influences to contend with, but I feel assured that Washington’s inflexibly just. I will not urge my claim on the plea of my long and faithful services, coeval with nearly the whole war; I will only plead my rank.” He accordingly repaired to Headquarters. The General received his former and favorite aid-de-camp with great cordiality and kindness, listened patiently to his representations, and finally granted his claims; and Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton, in presence of three armies, led the assault of the redoubt on the night of the memorable 14th of October, with a brilliancy of courage and success that could not be surpassed.

As the Americans mounted the works, the cry of the soldiers was, “Remember New London!” alluding to the cruel massacre of the American troops at Fort Griswold the year before. When the redoubt was carried, the vanquished Britons fell on their knees, momently expecting the exterminating bayonet; not a ban was injured, when no longer resisting. For Hamilton, who commanded, and Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, who participated as a volunteer on this brilliant occasion, courage and mercy have entwined a wreath of laurel that time or circumstance can never fade.

Shortly after the surrender of Yorktown, Colonel Hamilton retired from the army, preserving his rank, but declining all pay or emolument. He commenced the study of the law, and was elected to the New York legislature, and afterwards to the old Congress. While a member of the latter body, he wrote a series of essays of great ability, showing the defects of the old system of government, and recommending a convention, with a view to an entirely new constitution, Government and laws. He was elected a member of the Convention of 1787, and was one of the brightest stars in that constellation of patriots and statesmen that formed the present happy Constitution of the United States.

Hamilton’s labors by no means ended with the Convention of 1787; it required all his zeal and eloquence to stem the torrent of opposition from Governor Clinton and others, up to the time of the final adoption of the Constitution by the State of New York.

In 1789, when the first President was on his way to the seat of the new Government, he stopped in Philadelphia at the house of Robert Morris, and while consulting with that eminent patriot and benefactor of America as to the members of the first Cabinet, Washington observed, “The Treasury, Morris, will, of course, be your birth. After your invaluable services as financier of the Revolution, no one can pretend to contest the office of Secretary of the Treasury with you.” Robert Morris respectfully but firmly declined the appointment, on the ground of his private affairs, when he replied, “But, my dear General, you will be no loser by my declining the Secretaryship of the Treasury, for I can recommend to you a far cleverer fellow than I am for your Minister of Finance, in the person of your former aid-de-camp, Colonel Hamilton.” The President was amazed, and continued, “I always knew Colonel Hamilton to be a man of superior talents, but never supposed that he had any knowledge of finance;” to which Morris replied, “He knows every thing, sir; to a mind like his nothing comes amiss.” Robert Morris, indeed, had had ample proofs of Hamilton’s talents in financial matters, the financier having received from the soldier many and important suggestions, plans, and estimates touching the organization and establishment of the Bank of North America in 1780.

Thus did Alexander Hamilton, from amid the stirring duties of a camp, devote the vast and varied powers of his mind to the organization of a system of finance, as connected with banking operations, that proved of inestimable service to the cause of the Revolution.

Washington hesitated not a moment in making the appointment of Secretary of the Treasury, agreeably to the recommendation of Morris; for assuredly there was none, no, not one of the many worthies of the Revolution who stood higher in the esteem or approached Hearer to the heart of the Chief than Robert Morris, the noble and generous benefactor of America in the darkest hours of her destiny.

On the very day of the interesting event we have just related, Mr. Dallas met Hamilton in the street and addressed him with, “Well, Colonel, can you tell me who will be the members of the Cabine?” “Really, my dear, sir,” replied the Colonel, “I cannot tell you who will, but I can very readily tell you of one who will not be of the number, and that one is your humble servant.” He had not at this moment the remotest idea that Washington had again in peace, as in war, “marked him for his own.”

The very best eulogium that can be pronounced upon the Fiscal Department of the United States, as organized by Alexander Hamilton, is in the remarks of the Hon. Albert Gallatin, a political rival, and the most distinguished financier of the successors of the first Secretary of the Treasury. Mr. Gallatin has magnanimously declared that all Secretaries of the Treasury of the United States, since the first, enjoyed a sinecure, the genius and labors of Hamilton having created and arranged every thing that was requisite and necessary for the successful operation of the Department.

In January, 1795, Hamilton resigned his seat in the Cabinet and retired to private life. It was our good fortune to be almost domesticated in the family of this great man, and to see and know much of him in the olden time. Among the many and imposing recollections of the great age of the Republic that are graven upon our memory, and mellowed by time, cheer by the venerable and benign influences our evening of life, we call up with peculiar pleasure a reminiscence of the days of the first Presidency, embracing the resignation of Alexander Hamilton.

It was at the Presidential mansion that the ex-Secretary of the Treasury came into the room where Mr. Lear, Major Jackson, and the other gentlemen of the President’s family were sitting. With the usual smile upon his countenance, he observed: “Congratulate me, my good friends, for I am no longer a public man; the President has at length consented to accept my resignation, and I am once more a private citizen.” The gentlemen replied that they could perceive no cause for rejoicing in an event that would deprive the Government and the country of the late Secretary’s valuable services. Hamilton continued: “I am not worth exceeding five hundred dollars in the world; my slender fortune and the best years of my life have been devoted to the service of my adopted country; a rising family hath its claims.” Glancing his eye upon a small book that lay on the table, he took it up and observed: “Ah, this is the Constitution. Now, mark my words: So long as we are a young and virtuous people, this instrument will bind us together in mutual interests, mutual welfare, and mutual happiness, but when we become old and corrupt it will bind us no longer.”

Such were the prophetic words of Alexander Hamilton, uttered half a century ago, and la the very dawn of our existence as a nation. Let the Americans write them in their books and treasure them in their hearts. Another half century, and they will be regarded as truths.

What a spectacle does this touching reminiscence present to the Americans and their posterity! A great man of the Revolution, the native of a foreign isle, who had employed his pen and drawn his sword in the cause of liberty before a, heard had grown upon his chin; renowned alike in Senates and in the field, in the halls of legislation and the “ranks of death,” proudly acknowledging his honorable poverty, the result of his many and glorious services, and resigning one of the highest and most dignified offices in the Government, to retire as a private citizen to labor for the support of a rising family.

Of a truth, upon the Roman model, ay, arid that of the purest and palmiest days of the mistress of the ancient world, were formed the patriots, statesmen, and warriors of the American Revolution. Worthy, indeed, are they to be ranked with the purest and noblest models of ancient virtue and heroism, whom generations yet unborn will hail as the fathers of liberty and founders of an empire.

With these reminiscences, endeared to as by many venerable associations of bur other days, and which we offer as an humble tribute to the fame and memory of him who was a master-spirit among the great and renewed that adorned the age Washington, we close our brief memoir.

COMMENCEMENT OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES.—WASHINGTON’S RESIDENCE AND FINAL DEPARTURE FROM NEW YORK.

On the 30th of’ April, 1789, the Constitutional Government of the United States began, by the inauguration of George Washington as President of the United States, in the city of New York.

In the than limited extent and improvement of the city, there was some difficulty in selecting a mansion for the residence of the Chief Magistrate and a household suitable to his rank and station. Osgood’s house, a mansion of very moderate extent, was at length fixed upon, situated in Cherry street. There the President became domiciled. His domestic family consisted of Mrs. Washington, the two adopted children, Mr. Lear, as principal secretary, Colonel. Humphreys, with Messrs. Lewis and Nelson, secretaries, and Major Wm. Jackson, aid-de-camp.

Persons visiting the house in Cherry street at this time of day will wonder how a building so small could contain the many and mighty spirits that thronged its halls in olden days. Congress, cabinet, all public functionaries in the commencement of the Government, were selected from the very elite of the nation. Pure patriotism, commanding talent, eminent services, were the proud and indispensable requisites for official station in the first days of the Republic. The first Congress was a most enlightened and dignified body. In the Senate, were several of the members of the Congress of 1776 and signers of the Declaration of Independence—Richard Henry Lee, who moved the Declaration, John Adams, who seconded it, with Sherman, Morris, Carroll, &c.

The levees of the first President were attended by these illustrious patriots and statesmen, and by many others of the patriots, statesmen, and soldiers, who could say of the Revolution “magna pars sui;” while numbers of foreigners and strangers of distinction crowded to the seat of the General Government, all anxious to witness the grand experiment that was to determine how much rational liberty mankind is capable of enjoying, without said liberty degenerating into licentiousness.

Mrs. Washington’s drawing-rooms, on Friday nights, were attended by the grace and beauty of New York. On one of these occasions an incident occurred which might have been attended by serious consequences. Owing to the lowness of the ceiling in the drawing-room, the ostrich feathers in the head-dress of Miss McIver, a belle of New York, took fire from the chandelier, to the no small alarm of the company. Major Jackson, aid-de-camp to the President, with great presence of mind, and equal gallantry, flew to the rescue of the lady, and, by clapping the burning plumes between his hands, extinguished the flame, and the drawing-room went on as usual.

Washington preserved the habit, as well in public as in private life, of rising at four o’clock and retiring to bed at nine. On Saturdays he rested somewhat from his labors, by either riding into the country, attended by a groom, or with his family in his coach drawn by six horses.

Fond of horses, the stables of the President were always in the finest order, and his equipage excellent, both in taste and quality. Indeed, so long ago as the days of the vice regal court of Lord Botetourt, at Williamsburg, in Virginia, we find that there existed a rivalry between the equipages of Col. Byrd, a magnate of the old regime, and Col. Washington, the grays against the bays. Bishop, the celebrated body servant of Braddock, was the master of Washington’s stables; and there were what was termed muslin horses in those old days. At cock-crow the stable-boys were at work; at sunrise Bishop stalked into the stables, a muslin handkerchief in his hand, which he applied to the coats of the animals, and, if the slightest stain was perceptible upon the muslin, up went the luckless wights of the stable boys, and punishment was administered instanter; for to the veteran Bishop, bred amid the iron discipline of European armies, mercy for anything like a breach of duty was altogether out of the question.

The President’s stables in Philadelphia were under the direction of German John, and the grooming of the white chargers will rather surprise the moderns. The night before the horses were expected to be rode they were covered entirely over with a paste, of which whiting was the principal component part; then the animals were swathed in body-cloths, and left to sleep upon clean straw. In the morning the composition bad become hard, wag well rubbed in, and curried and brushed, which process gave to the coats a beautiful, glossy, and satin-like appearance. The hoofs were then blacked and polished, the mouths washed, teeth picked and cleaned; and, the leopard-skin housings being properly adjusted, the white chargers were led out for service, Such was the grooming of ancie